


nothing more than here

by ididntwannashipit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Dyl's Pickle, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Bondage, Laundry Mistakes, M/M, Ty's Tie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ididntwannashipit/pseuds/ididntwannashipit
Summary: Tyler closes the door, sets the duffle down against it. At a touch on his shoulder he turns, and Dylan catches him first, frames Tyler’s face with his hands, fingers tangled in his beard. Mouth to mouth, first words whispered and mixing with their breath as Dylan kisses him.





	nothing more than here

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for prompt #277 - Pink at full moon ficlet. It was also inspired by talks of future London meet ups, and what happens when red silk ties end up in the laundry. So. Yeah.

The text says nothing more than _here_ , but Tyler doesn’t really need more than that, either. He glances out the window to see the cab pulling up, the figure emerging with just a giant duffle bag, a heavy coat, and a Mets baseball cap pulled down low.

Yeah. He’s here.

Tyler gets the door open just in time, and he takes the duffle from Dylan, rather than pulling Dylan himself into his arms. There are still people out there; this is still public. Even though no one here has given Tyler a second look. Even though there’s no way they’ll recognize Dylan, as buried as he is under that coat.

Still.

Tyler closes the door, sets the duffle down against it. At a touch on his shoulder he turns, and Dylan catches him first, frames Tyler’s face with his hands, fingers tangled in his beard. Mouth to mouth, first words whispered and mixing with their breath as Dylan kisses him.

_I missed you._

_I need you._

_I love you._

Dylan finally pulls back, his grin crinkling his eyes. “Hey. I’m here.”

“Didn’t notice,” Tyler deadpans. “I thought that was someone else’s tongue in my throat.”

The smile falls away from Dylan’s face. “Has there been?”

“Someone else’s tongue in my throat? No, not even on screen, or for publicity. Not lately.” It’s an inevitable part of the job, especially now that Dylan’s big, and Tyler’s got his workable mid-list jobs. But Tyler hates it, tries to keep it to a minimum as much as he can.

It’s not that he doesn’t like girls; he does.

He just likes Dylan more. And he’s not ready to share his bisexuality with the world.

“Same.” Dylan reaches past Tyler to grab the duffle, shouldering it with an ease that shows he’s currently in one of his muscled phases. When Dylan works out, and Tyler gets a chance to slow down, they’re almost the same size. Just built differently.

Tyler looks forward to exploring that. Later.

“How’d you end up in a flat instead of stuck in the hotel with the rest of the cast and crew?” Dylan peers through one door into the kitchen, then reroutes himself and walks down the short hall. There are only two doors—the bathroom, standing open, and the bedroom just beyond. Dylan walks into the bedroom and drops the duffle on the bed.

“Begged,” Tyler admits. “I said something about it’s London, I’m going to be here for a few months after filming ends so I can use it as a base for some European conventions, so just let me rent the place. And they found me a place.”

“Nice.” Dylan undoes the zip on the duffle, then flops back on the bed next to it, arms starfished out. He still wears the oversized jacket, and the cap is knocked loose when he hits the bed. He picks up the cap, tosses it in the direction of the night table; Tyler picks it up and drops it where Dylan meant it to go.

Dylan pats his thighs, and Tyler crawls onto the bed, straddling him. Dylan reaches up, cups the back of his neck, tugs him closer.

It’s easy to forget about everything when they’re kissing. Somehow Dylan loses the jacket, and next thing Tyler knows his own shirt is gone. They end up pressed hip to hip, Tyler’s jeans far more confining than Dylan’s ever-present sweats. But Tyler doesn’t care, because Dylan’s shirtless too, and Tyler can map his chest with his tongue, and it’s just fucking brilliant.

Dylan winds his fingers through Tyler’s hair, holds him gently. “I missed you so fucking much. Filming went a week late, then we had to redo about six scenes, and that movie is so fucking far over budget it’s ridiculous. They’re banking on me, which is insane.”

“That’s because you’re bankable.” Tyler presses the words into Dylan’s skin, adding _I love you_ just over his heart. “I know it. They know it.”

“I don’t know why.”

Tyler knows better than to argue with Dylan. He knows that no matter how many times he tells Dylan that he’s amazing, that he’s a better actor than Tyler could ever aspire to be, Dylan will just fall further down the spiral.

They’ve reversed the conversation as well. They both have their anxiety, and they are no strangers to imposter syndrome.

Tyler stretches over Dylan, claims his mouth again, plundering him slowly. It’s one of those times where they both have beards—Tyler’s has gone far beyond scruff, and Dylan’s is getting there. Tyler likes it, loves the feel of Dylan’s fuzz-covered cheek under his hands. Loves that there’s something to hold onto, and loves the scratch of it against his skin.

It’s easy to get lost in the taste of him, easy to linger over this, especially when it’s been so damned long since they’ve seen each other.

Tyler finally pulls back when Dylan nudges, falls to lie next to him when Dylan nudges harder. “Fine,” Tyler says, sighing. “We can stop. You’re probably hungry.”

“I have no problem continuing this,” Dylan motions from himself to Tyler, “in a little bit, but right now, I really have to pee. I kind of ran out of the airport hoping no one would see me.” He pats Tyler’s chest as he sits up. “If you want to help out, dig my pillow out of my duffle for me. Jules promised she packed it, and threw in the last load of laundry after it got out of the dryer, so don’t be surprised if it’s a mess.”

“You’ve got Jules doing your chores now?” Tyler leans up on his elbows as Dylan stands. He’s had to listen to numerous odes to his own ass, and he can’t seem to convince Dylan that _his_ ass is just as good. Which… doesn’t matter, as long as Tyler can stare at it now, and get his hands on it later.

“Why should it be any different than when we were kids?” Dylan quips. “Which… lie. Somehow I usually ended up doing her chores. But yeah, she was at my place taking care of things, and when I got home from the last day on set, she knew I wanted to basically nap for two hours, shower, and get to the airport, so she threw the load of laundry in for me. I’d separated it already and all she had to do was grab the pile off the floor of my closet.” He turns back, leans in to kiss Tyler one more time. “Pillow?” he asks with a hopeful voice.

“Pillow,” Tyler agrees, pointing at the door. “Go. Pee. Get your ass back here and in my hands, okay?”

“When you put it so romantically, how’s a guy to resist?” Dylan blows a kiss and walks out; Tyler takes a moment to enjoy the view before rolling to his feet and pulling the duffle open.

The pillow is crammed in right on top, and Tyler grabs that out first, fluffing it before tossing it onto the bed next to his own. After that, he’s already got his hands in the duffle, he might as well unpack. For once in their lives, they have more than a few days together, and Tyler just kind of wants to see Dylan’s stuff mixed in with his own.

It takes the third pink t-shirt, quickly followed by the first pair pair of pink socks, before Tyler realizes something’s wrong. “Hey, Dyl?”

“Jsbrush tff,” Dylan calls back, voice muffled. Water runs, and a moment later the door to the bathroom opens. “Yeah?”

“Why do you have pink socks?” Tyler holds them up. He can see where they used to be white; the dye staining them isn’t consistent, blotched in places and thinning to pale pink in others. But they’re still neatly bunched together as a pair, placed in the suitcase as methodically as everything else.

Just like the three pink undershirts.

And the pair of pink boxer briefs, which have a thick stripe that’s almost red tangled down one leg before fading to pink everywhere else.

“What?” Dylan’s at the door, then next to Tyler, reaching for the briefs. He holds them up, brow furrowing. “What the actual fuck?”

Tyler reaches in, pulls out a fourth pink t-shirt, and an envelope flutters to the floor. On the outside, in Julia’s neat handwriting, it says, “Pickle and Tie.”

Dylan takes the envelope, slips it open, and pulls out an instant photograph. A pile of wet laundry sits in a basket, the dryer open behind it. Everything in the load is pink. Everything, that is, except for the wrinkled and crumpled red tie that seems to be wrapped around a pair of boxer briefs.

“Oh,” Tyler says slowly.

Dylan flips the picture to see the note on the back.

_Did you know that silk bleeds like fuck when it’s in hot water? It’s also ruined, sorry Ty (tie!). Dyl, maybe be more careful when separating your laundry. Oh and Ty, that tie did look really awesome when you wore it on the red carpet at Dyl’s last premiere. Which is when I’m assuming it got left here on the floor of his closet._

_Love to both of you. Be good, be careful, have fun. And remember, I blame Ty for all this pink (pun intended)._

“Oh,” Tyler says again. “That explains where my tie went.”

Dylan tosses the piles of clothes haphazardly back into the duffle, then drops that on the floor. He nudges Tyler back against the bed, pushing until Tyler lies down and Dylan crawls up to straddle him. “Do you remember where that tie was before it was in my closet?” Dylan asks, drawing a hand down the center of Tyler’s chest.

Tyler nods once, breath shuddering. “Yeah. Definitely, yeah.”

“Then let’s make sure it didn’t give its life for nothing.” Dylan slowly slides his hands along Tyler’s arms, lifting them high over his head. “Yeah?”

Tyler meets Dylan’s gaze, holds it for a long time before he nods once, slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “I love you.”

Dylan’s smile grows to a grin, crinkling the corners of his eyes. His thumbs slide along the inside of Tyler’s wrists. “I love you, too. Now let’s get a little tied up.”


End file.
